


Nice Guys Finish Last

by pletzel



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Season/Series 01, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:37:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pletzel/pseuds/pletzel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn's always wanted to be the closest thing McKinley has to a rock star. Problem is, rock stars don't tend to enjoy the fact the school's resident gay kid has fallen in love with them. At least, not in any of the songs Finn's ever heard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice Guys Finish Last

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during S1, a little while before 'Hello', where Finn's not having much luck with the ladies. (Or indeed much else.) Basically? It's wankfic.

There's always been a part of Finn that wants to strut like Jagger, swagger like Axl, sneer like Tommy Lee; that part of him wants to ride, high on the storm. Deep down, though, Finn knows he's just a nice guy. At least, he tries to be one. Yeah, he's done things his ma wouldn't be proud of, but people tell him he's  _nice_ , and _sweet_ , and  _chivalrous_. (He's still not sure what that last thing means, but Rachel's assured him it's good.) Granted, people probably only think he’s so pleasant because he's just a little bit nicer than most of the other guys on the team, but sometimes he swears he has  _nice guy_  written right below 'Hudson' on the back of his football shirt.  
  
Finn didn't pressure Quinn  _once_.  
  
Not in her room. Not in the hot tub. Not even on that really crazy afternoon Quinn did this utterly hot little growl and pushed Finn's hand underneath her skirt. Finn can still remember the sight of her lacy light purple panties as he pushed Quinn's skirt up her thighs, but before he could even feel her heat against his palm, his  _problem_  happened. He was _totally_ going to get to third base, but no. Quinn slapped him, said, “this, Finn, is why we can't have  _nice things_ ,” and really, why was he so surprised to find out the truth about the baby? Why was it surprising that Quinn went to Puck, and Rachel went to Puck, and Santana  _still_  goes to Puck?  
  
Yeah, Finn's  _nice_. Nice enough the girls in freshman year draw hearts around his face in yearbook pictures, and nice enough that the waitresses at his favorite diner always give him free pie.  
  
Neat as all the pie is, though, Finn's just sick of being so  _nice_  all the time.  
  
\--  
  
Finn’s also sick of everyone thinking he's stupider than rocks. Yeah, he’s a bit gullible but Finn knows what that look Kurt throws him means. He knows why he's been seeing it more frequently since the truth about the baby emerged; Kurt's offering him his heart – and other things – on some fancy designer platter. Kurt's always offering him private dance lessons, and skincare advice, and has 'KH 4 FH' written on his ledger, and it's... a little creepy because it’s a  _dude_ , but it’s also kind of, well, flattering.   
  
And, hey, at least Kurt picked a nice guy like him to crush on. Finn's maybe said some things he's not too proud of when the guys on the team call him  _hard-on_ , or  _butt pirate_ , but the other guys on the team would do  _way_  worse things to Kurt than toss him in a dumpster if they were on the receiving end of Kurt's puppy eyes, things that make Finn want to hurl if he thinks about them too much.  
  
So, he's absolutely  _not_  gay, but maybe when Santana offers to give him a slice of her  _sugar cream pie_  if she can jiggle one of his man tits, and when Rachel whines about him forgetting their two week anniversary (apparently they're  _dating_ , now?) and when Quinn stubbornly refuses to give him back his baby blanket, his freaking  _gee-ge_?  
  
Finn kind of thinks about Kurt a little more, because Kurt looks at Finn a little less like he’s a nice guy who doesn't have the courage to stand up for what he really needs, and a little bit more like the rock star Finn wishes he could be.  
  
\--  
  
It's Thursday night, and Finn's had another date with Rachel. She  _is_  pretty awesome; her legs and butt look really good in the tiny skirts and knee socks she wears. Plus, she's one of the few girls at school who doesn't call him ‘ _quick draw_ ’, or ‘ _that guy who jizzed in a hot tub_ ’. Date night’s going really well, Rachel cooing in his ear that his intensity is flattering, and, “we'll work on your little problem together,” and that's almost enough to have him creaming his pants there and then.  
  
That is, until she breaks away, tugs down the hem of her skirt and presses a pamphlet into his hand:  _Understanding Men's Vitality_. Apparently she 'liberated' it from her father's collection, and Finn honestly thinks even curling up and dying wouldn't stop the shame crawling through his body.  
  
After his date, Finn can't stop thinking about his  _problem_. Which, unsurprisingly leads to him thinking about sex. It's late, so late at night that  _morning_  is probably more accurate, and Finn throws down his Xbox controller and slides into bed. He can't stop thinking about how much he  _needs_ , how much he needs something that's pretty much a basic human right; something that he's pretty sure he'll never actually _get_.  
  
Because he's a  _nice guy_.  
  
A flash of Kurt slides into his mind, because Kurt's always a really good listener. Kurt's often said that it's okay for Finn to talk about his feelings, that Finn shouldn't have to hide  _anything_  from him. Kurt would  _never_  let Puck take  _anything_  from him. Finn's seen how Kurt's cheeks flush and his eyelashes flutter, and it's for him, all for him. He's seen the way Kurt's mouth opens so widely when he sings out those long, high notes – Kurt sings with everything he feels, and  _god_ , the things Kurt would do with that mouth.  
  
It's not the first time Finn's thought of Kurt like this, because Finn's pretty sure that Kurt’s  _not_  a nice guy. Kurt likes to give the impression he is, but he's about as subtle as a fart in a crowded elevator. It's far too easy to imagine Kurt on his knees, his tiny nose wrinkling a little as he opens his mouth wide, like he's singing his favorite song, and takes in every inch of Finn's dick, breathing deeply, eyes watering, all for  _Finn_.  
  
After so many  _nos_ , nothing much matters except a  _yes_ , and Kurt would do anything if Finn just asked, anything Finn wanted. Finn's lip stings as he bites down on it hard. He's not gay,  _not, not, not_. He's sixteen. Anything gets him hard: a short skirt, a light breeze, Brittany doing high kicks, Ms. Pillsbury in one of those tight blue sweaters that are thin enough for him to just make out the outline of her nipples.  
  
Kurt’s ass in those tight red jeans he was wearing in glee rehearsal last week.  
  
 _Fuck_.  
  
Finn’s so hard, dick straining against the front of his boxers, thinking about  _Kurt Fucking Hummel_ , who uses shampoo that smells like crisp green apples, and sends him texts like  _you can always lean on me, Finn_ , whose name is saved as  _K_  in Finn’s phone. (It's not that he's  _ashamed_  of being friends with Kurt, but it's  _just in case_  Puck or someone steals his phone, and thinks Kurt's friendship means more to him than it does. Yeah, that's it.)  
  
“ _Lean on me, Finn_ ,” Finn can hear Kurt say in that breathy, seductive little voice of his, and something about that just jolts him, and he's aching so much it's painful, so much his leg's twitching. Sure, he could think about Rachel, or Quinn, or Lara Croft or whatever, but an idea pops into his head.  
  
If he flogs his log while thinking of Kurt, he might actually  _last_. Okay, it’s 2am logic, but whatever; he’ll roll.  
  
Finn's brain helpfully suggests Kurt would probably be a bit offended by this, though Finn pushes that aside. Kurt would probably be pretty jazzed to know Finn was thinking about him at all. Then, his brain suggests, Kurt's creative. The way he dresses, the way he completes Finn's homework so it's good enough to get a passing grade but not so good it's suspicious. There has to be some major league innovation going on in his smart little brain. Kurt's probably not all holding hands in a field of wildflowers; he has to be beating his meat like the rest of them, because prissy and crisp and pressed as he is, he's still a  _guy_.  
  
Has Kurt even made out with someone?  
  
Probably not, Finn thinks. He thinks of Kurt with his eyes closed and head tipped back, panting softly, and it's not as repulsive as it should be, as everyone tells him it should be. Except, Kurt's a guy, and Finn bets he knows what other guys want. None of that quick, dry kiss with a tiny-flick-of-tongue he gets so frustrated by but slow, and deep. Kurt might give him a quick kiss the first time, sure, but within seconds, Finn knows his warm tongue would be fucking into his mouth, tasting him and taking everything he could, and Finn groans low in his throat, moving to yank his boxers down, but no.  
  
He's going to last, damn it.  
  
Because he's never going to think of Kurt while he jerks off  _ever, ever_  again.  
  
Not when his mind's churning with possibilities, with  _what ifs_ , and he can feel the ghost of Kurt's hand, soft and warm against the small of his back, rubbing him through his Browns shirt. Kurt's sitting next to him on the couch, Finn thinks. Watching the game together – he'd do that thing chicks do where they pretend they're interested just to make you happy – and at the end of the third quarter, Kurt would shift closer. He'd slide his tongue along his top lip and his eyes would soften just a little... Finn guesses Kurt's skin would be really silky and soft from all the time he spends on it, and maybe he'd cup Kurt's jaw, feel his skin, circle his thumb around Kurt's cheekbone.  
  
Finn slides his hand down his stomach, slowly, eyes guiltily searching the room before they flutter shut.  
  
“ _Finn,_ ” Kurt would say, treating his name like the most precious thing in the world. “ _It's okay to kiss me, if you want to_.” No, Kurt wouldn't say that. He's always more self-assured. “ _Finn, I've never wanted anything more than I've wanted to kiss you_ ,” he'd say, and Finn nods to himself, imagining the slow purse of Kurt's lips and his eyelashes gently falling over his closed lids, the first brush of their lips gentle and sweet.  
  
 _Great_. Even when he's fantasizing about making out with someone who’d be completely willing, he's too much of a nice guy to do it right.  
  
No, that's not how it's gonna happen.  
  
Finn slides his hand a little further down, thumb resting just above the waistband of his boxers, and breathes in his own scent. “ _God, you smell so good_ ,” and he hears that high, bright voice echo in his head, “ _Finn_ ,” and Kurt would draw back and lick his lips, saying his name over and over and over, hands weaving through Finn's hair as Kurt would crawl into his lap, knees hot and heavy on against the sides of his thighs, pressing him into the couch, his hand sliding down to the nape of Finn's neck and their kisses growing hotter, messier, Kurt dragging Finn's lip between his teeth.  
  
Unable to help himself, Finn scratches the back of his neck and hums happily. It feels so good, something so simple as stroking his hair. No girl's ever done that for him when they've made out, not ever, and having someone else do it would feel so much better; Kurt would know just how to scratch and rub and slide, tugging his hair to pull him closer. “ _Ssh, don't talk. Just feel. I'll make it so good for you._ ”  
  
Finn palms his chest with his other hand, Kurt's voice still there in his head, so much it's like he's right there with him, and, “ _you look so good like this, spread out for me_ ,” and Quinn's rubbed at his shoulders, and that melted him, but Kurt wouldn't be so gentle. Kurt would grab Finn's shoulders, pushing him back roughly, pinning him in place and he'd tear Finn's shirt off, throw it on the floor and kiss his way hotly down every inch, mapping and tracing and teasing with his tongue.  
  
“ _Hands by your side, Finn_ ,” and Kurt would be so bossy, “ _let me taste you_ ,” and he'll never live it down, not _ever_ , but Finn groans into his fist then sucks his fingers in his mouth, slicking them with his spit. He lowers them down to his nipple and pinches.  
  
Tilting his head back, Finn imagines the look on Kurt's face. Sheer adoration, pushing Finn’s shoulders against the couch with so much force the couch cushion scratches his bare back, a lapful of hot, warm Kurt shifting over him. Finn’s slick fingers glide over his chest, back and forth over his nipple, adding just a tiny pinch, and  _fuck_ , that's so amazing he feels it down to his toes. When he shifts his hips, seeking friction that he’s not going to give into just yet, he can hear the bed squeak under his weight. Finn imagines Kurt grinding into his lap, his head thrown back baring the pale, pretty column of his neck, a smug little expression on his face as his cheeks hollow and he sucks Finn's nipple in his mouth and drags it between his teeth, breaking apart to whisper, “ _grind on me,_ ” painting a warm stripe up Finn’s neck before biting down on his earlobe. “ _Feel how hard I am for you_ ,” and lips tugging even harder before whispering quietly, “ _tell me what you want, Finn. I'll do whatever you want._ ”  
  
What  _would_  Finn want?

Kurt's hands, Kurt's mouth; god,  _both_  of them, they'd be amazing. Tilting his hips up, Finn tugs his underwear down his legs and his dick bounces against his stomach, and he's pretty sure Kurt's eyes would widen at that. Yeah, Finn doesn't really  _intend_  on checking out guys in the locker room, but from what he's seen of other guys, he's pretty thick, and Kurt has tiny hands, he could barely fit his hand around him. Reaching down, Finn cups his ass – and yeah, he bets Kurt could get off just from that, probably, squeezing him in his hands because he's caught Kurt staring at guy's asses all the damn time – and Kurt would reach down and grab Finn's ass, squeezing and pulling and grinding, groaning, and the details are vague but it shifts to Kurt on top of Finn, flushed and naked, sliding down until Finn's buried all the way inside, Finn gripping Kurt’s hips with his hands, the tips of his fingers curling into Kurt’s hipbones.  
  
Kurt's not a girl, though, nothing  _like_  a girl.  
  
And right now, Finn doesn't want him to be; knows he'll be so tight, clenching around him, and Finn wishes he'd know what it's really like, what he'd really  _feel_. Finn's stroking himself so hard the slap and slide of skin echoes around the room; he’s leaking so much he’s so slick, knows it's going to be over so soon, too soon, so he wills himself to drag his hand away.  
  
 _Stupid problem_ , he thinks, panting a little,  _it’s always over too damn soon_ , and then he has an idea.  
  
It's only because he's so turned on his head's aching, he tells himself; this just might gross him out enough to work. When he spits on his hand, though, it feels daring, and exciting, and there's a rush of blood through his veins warming his thighs as he slides his split-slick finger just behind his balls and presses firmly. He's so warm there it figures Kurt would be too,  _god_ , the heat of being inside that would be amazing, but there's that echo of Kurt's voice again. “ _Lift your hips up for me,_ ” and, “ _so open for me, so hot for me_ ,” and when he takes a deep breath and slides just the tip of his finger in, his whole body shakes.  
  
Having something up there's kind of strange. It's not good, not bad... it's just sort of  _there_. Finn guesses that's what it would feel like for Kurt. Kind of crappy, really. There must be more to buttsex than that; why else would the chicks in the pornos Puck shows him love it so much? Finn slides the rest of his finger in and decides, what the hell, he'll fist himself with his other hand, and that's better, familiar, but still a little  _new_. It's weird; this is what it would be like, Kurt opening up slowly, letting him in inch by inch until he's buried deep inside, Kurt's hands clutching his shoulders as he slides down, not slamming his hips, but slow, lazy circles. Kurt’s hot tongue tracing the vein in Finn's neck as he does that shimmying thing with his hips, just like he does in glee.  
  
Finn fists himself a little harder, and yeah, that's it. His hand's tight on his dick, and he watches himself slide through his fist; he's leaking so much he doesn't even need lotion, and even he's surprised by how he comes without warning, glad his fist has caught most of it because he's kind of kicked the sheets away from his body in the process, and  _eew_ , that would have gone  _everywhere_.  
  
It's weird, though. Usually Finn feels really sleepy after he's come, but that voice is still there, “ _come on stud, I know you can go again,_ ” and it sort of disturbs Finn how much Kurt's sounding like some super skilled gay porn star in this, but Finn's twitching in his fist, hardening again, and he can't quite bring himself to care. Finn pumps himself again, his come still warm against his hand, and his finger's still  _there_. He's kind of sore, but it's a good kind of sore, and why not. It's just this once, and his toes are curling in the sheets and his balls are aching but in a really good way, and he's far too gone to stop now.  
  
The second time, Finn decides, would happen during school.  
  
Kurt wouldn't be able to keep his eyes, or his hands, off Finn after the time they watched the game together; he'd pass a note during Spanish, Finn so wanting he'd scrunch the paper until it burned in his palm. Kurt would primly say, “ _I need a little refreshment, Mr. Schue_ ,” and shoot him a wink. Finn would catch up with him in the hallway, his heart beating faster at the crazy look in Kurt's eyes, which would be for him, just for him. Kurt's tiny hand would be sticky with sweat as it reached for his, and Kurt's voice is low, now. “ _You got me so hard in rehearsal yesterday,_ ” he'd say, “ _I get hard just listening to you_ ,” and somehow they make it to an abandoned classroom, Finn groaning as he fucks up into his fist, and yeah, this could actually happen, he thinks, as he slides his dick slowly in his hand, slick with his own come. He squeezes his dick hard at the base on each down stroke because this is just too damn good.  
  
Finn’s mind shifts to Kurt on his knees, pretty mouth wide open after his tongue traces his bottom lip, forming an  _oh_. “ _I've been touching myself each night, Finn, you're all I think about_ ,” and Finn knows his dick would arch into the heat of Kurt's palm as Kurt lightly brushes the front of his jeans, hands steady and sure as he unbuttons them. “ _You love my mouth on you, don't you,_ ” he'd say, licking his lips, “ _I like to think it's my greatest weapon?_ ” Kurt's breath would be so warm against him, Finn shifting his hips forward, needing nothing more in that moment than being inside that sinful mouth. “ _I do have other weapons, though_ ,” and Kurt would be straining against his jeans, palming himself, “ _see this, Finn? This is all for you._ ”  
  
Finn's surprised how much he wants it, wants Kurt sucking around him, moaning around him, making these quiet hums that Finn’s sure would send vibrations to the pit of his stomach. Kurt's lost his clothes somewhere in this, and he's sliding a finger inside himself as he sucks Finn, his other hand reaching up to squeeze Finn's hand tightly. “ _I'm such a slut for you_ ,” and the idea of Kurt, not-quite-prissy Kurt who never swears saying that just sends something Finn can't even describe through him; he swears the hairs on his thighs are standing on end, and he's shivering through his whole body. Finn’s got two fingers inside himself, up to the second knuckle, and he's so sore, he's so wrecked, but god, if Kurt could see him now.  
  
“ _You want to come so badly, don't you, Finn_ ,” and it's like Kurt's right there with him. “ _I'll give you what you need_ ,” and Finn can't hold out any more at that, his head falling back against his pillow as he tightens around his fingers – fuck, when did it even become fingers – and he whines, coming hard over his fist, his chest. He breathes deeply, lungs burning; he honestly didn't know he could come so hard.

He's also pretty sure he doesn't want to risk a repeat performance.  
  
“Oh, god, Kurt,” Finn says; he's so wrecked it escapes against his will, and he can imagine Kurt curling against him, hair sweaty and face flushed for him, soft fingers drawing circles on his thighs as his breathing steadies.  _God_ , maybe Kurt would trail a finger through the streaks of come on his chest, suck it into his mouth, eyes fluttering shut, and Finn's dick - damn traitor --  _still_  has the audacity to twitch. Finn groans as he fumbles for his discarded boxers and wipes himself off, then flings his arm over his face and tries to ignore the ache of  _what if_  in his chest.  
  
What if... by doing this, he's kind of conquered his  _problem_ , but created another one for himself that's just as bad?  
  
Because, he's long known Kurt would need little persuasion to do any of the things Finn's just gotten off to, but in this sleepy, sated moment? Finn doesn't care about being a nice guy, and doesn't care about what the guys on the team think, because if Kurt should happen to be all freaky and crawl through his window right now, Finn would let him do whatever the hell he wanted.  
  
–  
  
The following morning, Finn blinks as he comes to, his crappy wallpaper nothing but a lump of blurry cowboys lassoing blurry horses, and he wonders if this is what a hangover feels like. It's only when he sees a fucking  _come stain_  on his wall that he  _really_  remembers, and guilt floods through his body at what it's done to him, at how it's _betrayed_ him.  
  
What's worse is that, despite his four hours of sleep, he actually feels rested, and... oh god, he's spooning his pillow. Aghast, he throws his pillow against the wall and sits up. He's spent the night being a big spoon to a fucking pillow, and when he closes his eyes, images blur and dance behind them; there's a ghost of soft lips on his, dark brown,  _crisply gelled_  hair in his hands, and his eyes fly open in fright and fear.  
  
“I'm leaving for work now, Finn,” his mom says through his door, ever cheery. “Don't reheat the burritos in the microwave. They're wrapped in --” there's a sigh, then a pause. “Just don't reheat them at all!”  
  
Finn's too stunned to respond, but he's not too stunned to reach for his phone and text Rachel. Sure, she's beyond a prude, but he'll do whatever she wants if he can avoid reliving  _this_  again. Finn's pretty sure there'll be some lame Disney movie, or ice-dancing in his future (thankfully the lack of size fourteen skates is a pretty good get-out clause, and one he doesn't actually have to  _lie_  about) but he'll leave the planning to Rachel, make sure he has something else to focus on, maybe try and teach himself the guitar or something, because he’s never, ever, thinking of Kurt like that again.  
  
–  
  
Until, that is, Kurt meets his eyes in the hallway that morning, and sidles up to his locker with a, “how's it hanging, Cowboy?” and Finn can feel his face flush and Kurt licks his lips a little, points at Finn's elbow, and taps two fingers against his nose. Finn's lost for words, but by the time he's found them, Kurt's adjusted his bangs and walked away, with nothing but a jaunty tilt of his head and the lingering scent of his cologne that kinda smells like summer rain following him.  
  
And when Finn looks at his arm, he's ninety percent sure he gave his elbow a freaking  _hickey_  in his sleep.  
  
“Something seems different about you today,” Rachel tells him later, reaching for his hand, but right now that just feels wrong, so Finn snatches it away on impulse then mumbles he's worried that he's getting the flu. Rachel beams at him. “You're always so magnanimous,” she says, with a stage bright smile, “and guess what! My dads are attending a life drawing session this evening, so we have the house all to ourselves. I'll bake some sugar cookies while you can help me tag my YouTube videos to garner some interest for my upcoming performance at the Lima Convalescent Home!”  
  
“Sounds great!” Finn says, forcing his brightest smile and giving her a thumbs up. Finn likes Rachel, he really does (even if he  _still_  doesn’t know what most of the words she says mean) but when Kurt 'accidentally' brushes past them and cooly shoots Finn a wink, Finn sometimes wishes he could release his inner rock star and  _not_  be so nice.  
  
Then again, rock stars don't tend to enjoy the fact the school's resident gay kid has kind of fallen in love with them.  
  
At least, not in any of the songs Finn's ever heard.


End file.
